harsh my vibe

I have decided not to take the job. It was a good offer, the boss was amazing, and the work would have been interesting. But then again, I like my setup now pretty well, too. It lets me go sailing.

Which yesterday, I did. My friend R wanted to take his daughter out on the bay for the first time. Sure, she's 11 months old. But the point is, "She got to feel the wind in her hair." I guess people are like that with their kids.

It was a nice day for a sail. I'm not complaining.

Last night my workplace had a big huge old party. There were hundreds of people, and bars set up among the cubes. And there's me, checking email and changing my shoes. It was a three-martini night. For me, that's two martinis too many. Many thanks to L for getting me home in one piece. And apologies to R for spilling my drink on you. The carpet is veeeeery spotty this morning, so at least I had company. Word to the wise: if you're going to sneeze, make sure that's a clear cocktail in your hand.

Heading down to my employer soon to do a shoot with the COO. I am nervous. The first one went okay, except the time I neglected to remove a line from the teleprompter, so the nice software executive said the same line twice. (Doh.) Otherwise, I'm doing okay being Johnny-writer-on-the-spot. As long as some aide doesn't mess with my copy again. Grrrrr.

big honking puddles

I left work at 3am this morning. Finishing scripts for executives who have no time, therefore I have no time. A storm had come in, and it was raining. I ran to my car dodging slowing taxis in time to get in, half-dry.

There was standing water 8 inches deep on the downtown streets. Makes your car run like a motor boat for an instant, before the wheels settle back onto pavement and water burbles up against the undercarriage. I drove home over sheets of water flowing down hilly roads. Traffic was light.

I got the call today; I have been offered a job. I am leaning toward taking it. Though the folks I interviewed with had a consistent comment: they found me headstrong, even arrogant. My response: yeah? so...? It's not enough to jeopardize the working relationship, but it's a concern. Next to that, money doesn't matter. Although there is a $5000 signing bonus, which will almost cover the credit card bills from my recent shopping sprees. Boy, have I ever gotten some nice stuff.

* Lodis wallet and briefcase
* goat suede jacket
* black lug sole shoes
* Ann Taylor suit, pans, shirt, scarf
* Ellen Tracy sweater, scarf
* Cashmere 3/4 length red tweed jacket
* purple wool pants. I know, I wasn't going to buy them, because what goes with purple? But I had two 10% off coupons, and they were on sale. I am a sucker for a bargain.

Halloween: I've decided to be a housewife from hell. I've got a polka dot 50s dress and a frilly apron. Horns. Maybe make gruesome halloween cookies -- severed limbs or gooey bugs or dead mice with fur. At least I don't have to buy any more new clothes. Although a sexy dress might be nice. Blue. For the party on THursday.

I need to get some sleep. Everyone thinks I should take the job. My mother. Even my favorite architects. I think it's time. Though there is some panic. I mean, I haven't even figured out what to do with my life yet, and here I am giving it up. Am I nuts?

Team America, Fu*k Yeah

My friend K has quit smoking. So he eats. He's inflating. Not in a fat way; he works out a lot. Strangely, he's gained little weight: 4-5 pounds. But his arms have become huge. He's like Popeye, post-spinach. He invited me this morning for his third breakfast -- an extended McDonald's breakfast buffet. Hash browns, eggs, pancakes, sausage, biscuits, orange juice. It was amazing, in a disgusting way. He finished mine.

It's Sunday and I have scripts to write. They're not that hard, I just freak out about them. What will I make the executives say? How much better can I get at what I do? Evidently, I am pretty good already. Still, I fret.

I have received no job offer yet. HR is taking awhile to put the package together. But I am expecting a call on Monday, from J and from HR to explain the benefits package. Can you say sabbatical? I can. Sabbatical!

On Monday I am supposed to go to Sun to see some executives; they've asked me to come down for the tapings later in the week, too. It's an odd and confusing time. I'm doing incredibly well at my current gig, with high-profile projects and new contacts among the executive team. Will I give this all up? The thing about freelance is you never know where you're going to end up. With a job, you know.

The architectural firm is having a big old party next week. Hundreds of people, crammed into just one floor. K is inviting his cute engineer friend he's been tryign to set me up with for the last 6 months. I have a soft spot for engineers. They always tell the truth. Seem to relish it, actually. Especially the things they cannot fix or solve. I like that. Integrity.

Saw Team America the other night. One of the architects said it was incredibly hilarious. I found it a bit disturbing, actually. Potty-mouthed, with some funny twisted moments. Refreshing to see an American movie depict something like moral ambiguity, at least. We have too many "Rocky"s and "Star Wars"s. Makes us awfully certain about things. Like that we're something like an underdog.

K said "Maria Full of Grace" is amazing. My sister's ex-boyfriend worked on it. Go Jim DeNault! Talk about following your dreams.

My mother is going to Cleveland next weekend to work with George Soros' ACT and get out the vote for Kerry. I'm proud of her. I'd go but I'll be moving my office. Bye, bye architects. Yes, change sucks. No doubt about it.

15 days to go

My thought of the day: There are those people who always need something from you. (Foot massage, validation, whatever.) Then there are others who pay attention to what people are asking them for.

This only occurs to me because I think I've changed camps. For the better. The fringe benefit? You don't actually have to do what people want you to.

I am swamped at work. But not quite swamped enough to forget that I haven't received a phone call from a certain prospective employer. Did get an email tonight, though. The nice man's been out sick.

Funny, though. I've been relatively unconcerned about the whole thing. Maybe I really am growing up.

Donate now

It's 15 days until the election, my Democrats for Kerry email says. Things you can do, if you fancy to:

Phone banking

Visit a swing state and get out the vote.

For us lazy bones who don't want to take the time, there is the cash route. Donate now, before it's too late. ;-)

Here's a nice note from the DNC development office, just in case you think they're buying beer with your hard-earned, non-tax-deductible cash.

Dear Judy,

Last Friday I told you about an important strategy meeting taking place over the weekend. Now I want to report back about how that meeting went and how your efforts made all the difference.

Toward the end of every presidential campaign, strategists like me crowd into small conference rooms and huddle around spreadsheets with polling data and financial reports. We argue about the best course of action in key battleground states and then we argue with the finance guy about whether we can afford it. These meetings usually involve a series of tough decisions guided as much by cash shortages as they are by strategy.

The meeting we had this weekend was different. Time and time again when we decided on the best strategy to win a state and turned to the finance guy his answer was "go for it." It was "go for it" because of the contributions you made just last week.

You deserve some specifics: At one point during the meeting talk turned to Colorado. Many pundits thought this state was in the win column for George Bush. But polls show this is not the case -- we can win Colorado. We decided that we should be aggressive here and once again the answer was "go for it." On the night of November 2, when Colorado is called for John Kerry, know it was because of you.

I just wanted to say "thank you" -- you continue to make the difference.

Let's get it done,
Michael Whouley
General Election Strategist


Bush Matches Wits with Nobel Laureates

Great article in NYT Science section today: Bush vs. the Laureates: How Science Became a Partisan Issue. It's online, but you have to register. This is exactly what my brother J was complaining about at the EPA -- changing scientific research to fit policy. Anti-enviornmental policy, at that. He's going to quit if Bush is reelected, it's that bad. And the brain drain is phenomenal, he says, at the EPA and elsewhere in D.C. Even if Kerry gets elected, government agencies will have a hard time until they can stock back up on talent. Aye carumba.

opera and rain

It's 11am and the singing has begun. There's a street fair today outside my apartment and this is occassion for all types of musical expression. Singers of children's songs. The ABC song. Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Old Oak Tree. One man barked into the microphone, like a dog. He was pretty good.

Then, there's the karaoke, which makes sense from a one-performer-has-to-break-down-and-another-set-up point of view. That's about the only way it works. Joe six-pack is up there, singing Lionel Ritchie's "Hello, Is It Me You're Looking For?" With feeling. Besides that the street fair is a pretty fun thing. There are giant rubber castles filled with screaming children. There are street vendors -- mostly local businesses. The fish tank guy has a half a block again this year.

Today I cook. My friends R and R dropped Tosca tickets on me last night, and I took my book club friend S, who used to work at the SF Opera. It was a very informative evening. For instance, I learned that the orchestra can't actually hear the singers, so they all have to watch the conductor -- the performers watch him in TV monitors installed on the front of the balconey -- to make sure they all stay in synch. One folk tale: the final scene, Tosca leaps to her death. Fade to black. A high-drama moment. Only in this one performance, the Tosca character hits the trampoline behind teh set with too much force, and actually bounces back up above the wall, in view of the audience. It was a type of comic relief they were not seeking.

Weevil Paranoia

This is the first time I'm really cooked since the weevils came. (Full disclosure: the banana bread I took on the camping trip with the shark attack victim? Weevils. It slowed us all down.) They appear to have decamped, but since you can't prove the non-existence of something I continue to be wary. Is that a weevil, sealed into the gummy bit of a cereal bag? No. They look like coffee grounds when they're dead, so that makes the lid of the coffee canister suspect. It's like that famous line from the movie Sixth Sense: "I see dead people." Only in my case, it's "I see dead weevils."

I'm not even sure they're weevils. They came into my house in a hiking guide my old housemate gave me. I thought they were paper bugs, so didn't worry about much besides my cookbooks. Then they moved in on the oatmeal, corn meal, and flour. One friend said they were "flour mites." In Australia, they had little bugs called chiggers that were in everything. They just ate them. "Extra protein."

But in a thank-you dinner to friends, I'd like to hold the weevils. Maybe I'll cook at their place.

Last night it began to rain. It's a big winter thing in SF. It was nice. I walked through the Castro in the drizzle, watching the Saturday night party people and singing a Tosca tune. I could get into opera. Only, if I'm going to buy my own ticket, I'm going to have to get a better job.

The interviews on Thursday went pretty well. Jay wants to hire me -- we talked money -- so it's just down to how well I did with the other 3 folks I met. But I am thinking of accepting. And they are thinking of offering. So I may be employed. After all this time.

OK, they've given microphones to children. Time to go food shopping.

links

See my brother M's hurricane photos online under "More Photos."

Also, check out my niece Lynn's blog.

Here's a news report about P's shark encounter.

Busy day. Interview pushed to Thursday. And apparently I need a halloween costume. Hmm.

Shark attack

I got a call tonight from S in Santa Cruz. Her husband M's old surfing buddy, P, was attacked by a shark today. He's okay. He just lost a lot of blood and a chunk of his leg.

First, these are the folks I went camping with (Cold snap, Another day, flashback #1.) Second: surfing alone is a bad idea. Here's what (evidently) happened.

P is surfing alone on Drake's beach in Point Reyes. He's loafing in the water, his feet dangilng over the end of his board (which makes him look just like a seal -- sharks' favorite food -- from below). A shark comes up and takes a bite out of his leg. Evidently this hurt alot, because P turns around and screams at the shark. Something like, "Get the hell off me you goddamn shark." He also thwacks the shark on the head as hard as he can, which is exactly the right thing to do if a shark is biting you. Sharks are cartilaginous fish, as opposed to bony fish, which means their skeletons are composed primarily of cartilage. This is why dolphins can chase off sharks by bumping them. If you ever get attacked by a shark, pop it on the nose. They have all sorts of sensitive equipment there. Don't ask what; I have no idea. (Maybe someone can write in and let us all know.)

Anyway, P hit the shark hard enough that he scared him/her off. The shark turns away sharply, and cuts P with its dorsal fin. So now P's got a chunk out of his leg and a gash on his head that's bleeding like crazy. He is chum. (Not chunder, as I thought, or chowder, as S, my Scrabble nemesis, thought. Chum.) A wave comes. He catches it, surfs to shore, walks the 200 feet to his stuff, and uses his cell phone to call 911. Soon, helicopters arrive and he is airlifted to the hospital. He's going to be fine. And dang, does he ever have a cocktail party story for all time. Lucky guy. Sortof.

I've been remiss in chronicling my parents' visit two weeks ago. Two things:

1. We walked around Noe Valley and looked at houses for sale. Median real estate price is a half million dollars. My dad promised if he wins the lottery, he will help me buy a place. I cheered. "Yay! It's a team effort." I need a bigger team.
2. Favorite moment: we're playing gin rummy 500 on Saturday afternoon at my apartment. It is a very small apartment, so my parents went to a hotel and then stayed at my place for two nights. I got a room at the Zen Center.

So we're in the last hand, two draws from the end of the game. My dad and I each have more than 500 points, so the winner will be decided by who has the higher score. He is 5 points ahead. He is deeply thoughtful, counting cards (because he has a photographic memory and can do that) and strategizing. Then he grins. "If I give mother what she needs to go out, you won't get my points or hers, and I will win," he says. He's right. But I can't take this sort of talk lying down. "Yes, but I get to go before she does, and the probability is 50-50 that one of the remaining cards will put me out, giving me your points and mother's points, and the higher score." He smirks. I smirk. He does that bobbing hand thing he does with his discard that is vaguely threatening. The tension mounts. My mom can't take it anymore. She reaches forward, and picks up the next card on the deck. It is not her turn. My dad and I stare, aghast. She giggles. "I just couldn't wait to see who would win," she says. We all laugh for about 5 minutes. She puts the card back. I take my turn, go out, and win. But somehow it wasn't quite the same. It was a nice visit.

Travel Flashback - Brazil 1986

When I was 16 I went to Brazil with my sister, M, who was studying the harp. It was a hard trip. We were both young, with long blonde hair and not very much savvy about S. American men. Everywhere we went we were hassled, groped, and rubbed upon. On the busses we attracted "crotch men." I won't go into the details; suffice it to say they were standing and we were sitting and it was an experience for everyone.

Two low points to our trip:

Fortaleza. My 17th birthday celebrated with a birthday bun afire with wooden toothpicks. The next day, we got so sick that one or the other of us were always in the bathroom. This was our first room in 6 weeks with a private bath. Good, good timing. We had Dengue fever. I thought we were going to die. I refused to get up, sending M for sandwiches and water. She didn't forgive me for days. Happy birthday.

Three weeks later. Late August/early September. We arrive in a surreal sand-dune seaside town of Canoa Quebrada in north Brazil. It is a popular hangout for travellers, and we installed ourselves in a tiny pensionne in a row of houses on the sand. We stayed out late and drank Cashasa and lime juice, which is mostly illegal in the U.S. On the second day we rented horses and rode along the beach. They were small horses, more like dogs, really, so the ride was not the easy slo-mo lope you see in the commercials for female hygeine products. In fact, it was downright uncomfortable, like sitting on top of a manic burro or straddling a spastic 2x4.

The next day, we began to vomit. Out the front window. People stopped to watch the white women barf. We lay on the floor in our sleeping bags. A mouse fell from the thatched roof onto my leg. My left quadracept muscle began to go numb, thanks to the riding. I shuffled to the bathroom. You want to go to the bathroom during the day, not at night. Because there are bugs. Big bugs. And a cistern. It looks something like this.

Going to the Bathroom at Night

You light the wick on your propane lamp. Get up. Check your shoes. Shield your eyes from the light and walk into the kitchen/living room/dining area. Don't look. Give everything a few minutes to skitter out of your way - mice, rats, cockroaches the size of puppies. (I exaggerate, but not much.) Snakes. Small ones. When the coast is clear you cross to the bathroom. There is no running water; there is a cistern made of cement blocks and it's covered with green moss/slime. Use the toilet. It has no seat. Fill a plastic dipper with water and pour it into the toilet to flush. Sluice water over your hands, soap, and rinse, onto the floor, where it drains away. It's a pretty good system, really.

In front of you, the propane lamp is lighting up the wall behind the cistern. Above the mostly clear water, the wall is moist, green, and full of tiny nooks and crannies -- thousands of them. Out of each protrudes a set of antennae, like the teasing antlers of a thousand tiny reindeer. They are waving at the light; the entire wall is moving. Even better, this insectoid salute is mirrored in the surface of the water, doubling the impact. Brazil was full of pests.

Get a Job

Is it possible? That after 6 years of freelancing, I might take a job?

I wasn't looking. But there was this ad on craigslist and it fit. Perfectly. Stable tech company, lots of money, hip office in downtown SF, three contacts who used to work there. I'd be a senior editor on a team of 7, doing a wide range of things, from copyediting/detail work and big-picture strategy/business analysis. Interesting. Very interesting. Intent on quality improvement, which I have experience with at Sun, doing the Six Sigma corporate change methodology. Piece of cake. The pay is in the mid 80's, which isn't exactly thrilling, but the ME said there were "things we can do." Stock, probably, or mega bonuses. We'll see. It would be nice to have benefits. And a 401(k) plan, maybe matching. And medical coverage, and a flexmed spending program. And a steady paycheck.

WHich can only mean one thing: shopping trip. Before my tax status would change. Can you say tax-deductible? I can.

Wish list:
* high end stereo
* iPod
* music, and a lot of it
* books
* classes
* probably couldn't pull off a new car. But what's the IRS going to say, exactly?

I have a second interview on Monday, where I meet everyone. Think nice thoughts for me. Thoughts like, "Jay, Judy is exactly the tactical ball-buster you need on your mellow-guy team." Ommmmmm.

Two other developments in my life:
1. My kitchen sink clogged up, and I now know way too much about what sorts of schmutz lives in my pipes.
2. I have weevils. Actually, they've been stalking my cupboards for some time. I just didn't want to admit it. It's so embarassing.

Change of Seasons

First, a tidbit, compliments of my friend M in Austin:

"Dick Cheney wants you to go to www.factcheck.com (look now, who knows how long this internet trick will last) WHOOPS!

he meant to send you to www.factcheck.org which is a good site to use to cut through the nonsense."

Next, a few thoughts about fashion. Black is back. To anyone who thinks we don't have changes of season here in San Frnacisco, we do. It's when 90% of the business district goes to black. Clothing, that is.

The VP debate was fabulous. My Newsweek this week is fabulous. The good guys, by hook, crook, and more than a few distortions of the truth, are drawing even with the evil incumbants. Two things: 1. whatever it takes. 2. fight fire with fire.

Carter was on TV last night. So refreshing to watch a smart man tell the truth. Candidly, tactfully, with humour and integrity. May history judge us all.

For those of you who still wonder what I do, I write things like this. The results of my visit to Texas.

Have a good one.

Don't mess with Texas

Texas was lovely. Austin, anyway. I am trying to convince my parents to check into the verdant, liberal central Texan capital as a possible wintering spot, since real estate is at least somewhat affordable.

Their response? You've got to be kidding. My dad was stationed in Witchita Falls, Texas when he was an Air Force doc, sometime in the 50s. My mom has never forgiven him. Evidently there was little to do there, besides find scorpions in your tea cups and suffer through interminable sand storms.

I like Texas. I've been to Austin 4 times now and the humidity and general leafiness of it remind me of Rochester, NY, without the snow. My last night, there was a great noisy thunderstorm. Knocked out electricity, including: the air conditioning, weed whacker, and freezer. The kids and I lighted candles and had a blackout party. Reminded me of the winter of '76 in upstate NY, when the snowdrifts lay six feet deep on our front lawn and the plows couldn't get through for days. Like last time, I played Connect 4, Crazy 8s, and gin rummy. But I also got to go to a grown-up party, stay up late drinking white wine, and play cribbage by candlelight. Nice.

The supercomputer was cool. What was really impressive was the scientists who are using the thing to do everything from analyzing bomb blasts on a building structure, to charting the path of hurricanes, to predicting earthquake damage from reverse impact reports. Their energy and dedication were pretty inspiring. The food was pretty good, too.

Great to see friends M and C, and C's two boys, who were charmers when they weren't burping in unison, playing the recorder, or jumping on my stomach. They're 8 and 6, and C's got her hands full. Looks pretty fun, though. I had a great time hanging, rehanging doors, and getting a drain cover for the bathroom sink. If you knew me, you would understand. OK, maybe not. I'm an OCD home fixer, when it comes to good friends and family. Got weeds?

Home. Wildly sleep-deprived. Still digging myself out of work. Quit my writing group. There goes the Great American Novel. Big thanks to M and S for doing my dishes while I was away. You rock. I'm going home to fall over and sleep for days. Or at least until my date tomorrow night. Yes, it's blind.